Don't You Dare Look at Him in the Eye
by ChasingShadowss
Summary: Stiles is onto the Alpha Pack, but a run-in with Deucalion hinders his research and sparks. . . other things OR Stalion fic that got away from me. Like, it grew legs and jumped off a freaking cliff. Trigger Warning: Non-con.
1. Chapter 1

"Scott, it's fine, I'll be back in like ten minutes, I just needed to check something out and I was right, as usual, so we're all good!" Stiles smirked, holding up his prize: a tiny flower, petals a deep purple with black tips. He had the phone propped between his shoulder and his ear as he carried his bat in one hand and the Ziploc baggy containing the flower in the other.

"That's not the point, Stiles! God, how many times do we have to tell you not to go out into the woods alone? It always ends badly!" Scott reminded him. Which well, yeah, he was mostly right.

"Whatever, I'm almost out anyway. Tell Derek and Isaac to meet us at Deaton's, I need to show you all this. I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Stiles told him. Scott said fine and they hung up.

Stiles kept walking, beaming over his discovery. Until he felt that tingle at the back of his neck. The teen slowed, glancing around him.

"Derek?" he called. It was usually Derek. But there was no answer.

A lump was forming in the pit of Stiles' stomach. He wasn't alone. He could feel it. _Fuck_, he really didn't want Scott to get to be smug over this.

Shoving the flower as gently as he could into his jeans' pocket, Stiles settled into a defensive position and raised the bat with both hands.

"That won't do much good."

Stiles whipped around, trying to find the source of the voice. Once. Twice. The third time around he finally spotted it, the glow of red eyes in the shadows of a big oak tree. Stiles readjusted his stance and raised the bat again, ignoring the voice.

"Who are you?" he asked, squinting his eyes to get a better look at the dark shape of a man.

"You get one guess." The voice was smooth, deep and more sultry than expected, Stiles thought.

"You're the Alpha? Like, the Alpha Alpha," Stiles clarified, ignoring how ridiculous that sounded as he swallowed thickly. _Shitshitshit_.

The werewolf stepped forward into the light, a smirk playing on his lips as he raised eyebrows in affirmation. "Name's Deucalion. But you already knew that."

Deucalion was tall, hard muscles standing out sharply in the fading light. He looked to be late 30s-ish and Stiles had never seen a face that more encompassed the word "chiseled." He was wearing what looked to be combat boots under his beat-up jeans and a plain, tight gray t-shirt.

All in all, not exactly what Stiles had pictured.

"Derek might have mentioned you," Stiles said nonchalantly.

Deucalion's smirk widened. His nostrils flared and he looked Stiles up and down with steel-grey eyes. "I'm sure he has," he said.

Stiles' eyes narrowed, blushing at what the Alpha was implying. He was sure Deucalion could smell Derek from earlier, when he'd been over to his apartment to get more info on the flower he was looking for, and he wasn't sure if that would help or hurt him. "Look, what do you want?" he asked, tightening his grip on the bat.

"You might as well just put the bat down," he advised, ignoring the question and taking a step forward. Stiles responded with a step backward, in which he of course tripped on a root. He threw out his arms for balance, the bat flying wildly for a moment before he righted himself. "See, it's throwing off your balance. Not a smart choice, if you ask me."

"Well Duke- can I call you Duke?" Stiles asked, gesturing with the bat.

Deucalion flashed his eyes red. "No," he deadpanned, voice icy.

Stiles smirked. "Alright then, _Duke_, I didn't ask. I like my bat. It's wood, ya know, nice and sturdy." He knocked on the bat a couple times to show his point.

"Seems like you're compensating," he commented with a pointed glance down.

"Ah!" Stiles huffed, offended and more amused than he would admit.

"Or you're projecting. Which, judging by the scent you wear, is more likely. You like 'em long and hard, Stiles?" There was amusement playing in his eyes and lips as he took another step forward.

Stiles gaped at him a moment before swallowing to regain composure and stepping back again, the bat hanging uselessly at his side now. "Not really any of your business. Don't you have poor townspeople to torment or something?"

Deucalion ignored him. "Or maybe it's the power. An Alpha werewolf must be pretty hard to resist for the pack's token human," the Alpha mocked, stepping forward again.

Stiles took another step back, glaring. "Not my pack," he ground out, the words bitter on his tongue. Derek was the last thing he wanted to discuss right now.

"Does that mean you're up for grabs?" Deucalion asked, mischief thick in his tone.

This wasn't going so well, Stiles thought. "No, Duke, it does n-" But he didn't finish the sentence. In a flash, he found himself pinned against a large tree, one clawed hand at his throat, the other pressing his wrist into the bark beside his face. The bat clattered to the ground. Bright grey eyes flashed red and the Alpha's body was pressed against his own.

"Don't. Call. Me. Duke," Deucalion whispered harshly into his ear.

"Right, yeah, totally, won't happen again," Stiles rambled out, gulping. He could feel the palm of the Alpha's hand against his Adam's apple and it hit him how much shit he was really in.

"Good." Deucalion released Stiles' arm to run fingertips down his side on the inside of his red hoodie, causing Stiles to startle, then shiver. "The flower you picked. Do you know what it's for?"

"What flower?" he asked, knowing his act was ruined by more than just the high pitch and crack in his voice.

Deucalion, however, didn't call him on it. Instead, he flattened his hand upside-down on Stiles' stomach, inching the fingers downward slowly. The breath flew from Stiles' lungs as the hand went lower, playing at the waistband of his jeans before dipping into the pocket. Despite the fact that what he was looking for was easily reachable from the top, Deucalion shoved his hand deep into the pocket, a spark of mischief in his eyes as he met Stiles'.

The Alpha pulled his hand out roughly, clutching the baggy. He brought it up in front of Stiles' face.

"Oh! Yeah, _that_ flower. I, um, got it for Scott. It's pretty, I figured he could give it to Allison, help win her back, ya know," Stiles lied, rubbing at his nose. Deucalion still had him by the throat.

Deucalion glanced at the flower with a smirk. "Trying to kill the girlfriend? Wouldn't have thought you had it in you," he remarked. "But then, you have always been the most surprising one, Stiles. The rest, they're predictable. But not you. You always surprise me."

"Thanks."

"Not really a compliment, but at least you keep things interesting. Now," Deucalion's voice dropped low, sultry, almost a whisper as he breathed the words against Stiles' ear. The teen cursed his traitorous dick, which was growing harder by the second. "How did you know about the belladonna?"

Stiles swallowed thickly, knowing his heartbeat was probably going nuts and hoping Deucalion thought it was all due to fear. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Stiles knew lying would only get him so far, but he was afraid of what Deucalion would do once he had what he wanted. He and his pack had been painting the town red since they got here.

Deucalion's eyes narrowed. "Hm." He smirked again. Other than the name sensitivity, he seemed to be making an effort not to seem threatening and that set Stiles on edge. "Well, don't worry; I know how to be creative."

Stiles had enough time to look wide-eyed, both confused and cautious, before the Alpha was palming at his erection over his jeans, flower dropping to the ground unceremoniously. The sensation was explosive. Stiles let out a shocked sob, hands scrabbling to find purchase in the bark at his back. His head fell against the tree and he gulped, squirming in his indecision of whether to lean into or away from the touch.

Deucalion was watching Stiles' reaction with a playful expression. He gave a squeeze and Stiles' brain shorted out. Hot man. Touching. _There_. Stiles didn't care anymore, pressing hips forward, looking for more friction. The Alpha pushed him back, and then Stiles' felt warm, rough lips against the skin of his neck. A soft moan escaped and he tilted his head, baring his throat, cringing internally at the gesture of submission.

"Hmm, aren't we eager?" Deucalion observed, whispering the words into the mark he was sucking into Stiles' pale skin. "It's almost as if no one else has ever. . ." he trailed off, pulling back to look at Stiles, all motion halted for a moment. He had a look of amused surprise on his face. "That makes things interesting."

Stiles didn't respond, couldn't. His brain was overloaded with sensation and the fact that someone was touching him, someone _else_. He should probably be bothered about. . . _something_. There was definitely something about this situation that should bother him. Several things, he thought, but he just needed to think of one. . .

"How did you know about the belladonna?" Deucalion captured the lobe of Stiles' ear between his blunt teeth, pulling a whine from the teen.

"The Vervain," Stiles breathed out. "Break-in. Next town over. Herbal shop. Bunch of Vervain stolen." Stiles took a deep breath to compose himself. _Sentences_, he thought, he could at least manage sentences. Deucalion slowed his movements, looking surprised. He was watching Stiles closely, as if searching for the lie. "It's needed to grow certain rare species of plants. Black Belladonna is the only one relevant to werewolves, since it's the antidote to wolf's bane."

Deucalion's eyes were flicking back and forth between Stiles', hand motionless against Stiles' crotch. "Officially that species doesn't exist. How did you even know about it?" His voice had lost its playful tone; he was all business now.

Now that his senses weren't being bombarded, Stiles could think. "Officially neither do werewolves, but there's plenty of information on them if you know where to look." He was breathing heavily, brain flickering through more thoughts than he could keep track of.

Deucalion raised his eyebrows. "And what did you find?" His thumb resumed movement, rubbing along Stiles' hard length and causing him to draw a shaky breath.

"Uh um. Black Belladonna is a flower of the Deadly Nightshade family. It's basically the antithesis of wolf's bane in that it either repels, prevents or cures the infection," Stiles squeaked out, words mushed together by how fast he was talking. "Problem i-i-is that all belladonna is, um, poisonous. To like everything." Deucalion tilted his head, a curious expression on his face. His fingers reached down to fondle Stiles' balls through his jeans in an encouragement to keep going.

Stiles swallowed, Adam's apple pressing into Deucalion's palm. "But, um, the Black Belladonna, the one that shouldn't exist, it ahh, can be grown with Vervain to neutralize the poison." Duke was nuzzling at Stiles' neck now, disrupting his thoughts. His brain was alive with sensation and he was finding it really difficult to remember what he was talking about, let alone find it in him to protest. "The pistil produces this special toxin that bonds with the Vervain and they, like, cancel each other out. But the petals are still poisonous," Stiles added breathlessly, deflating against the tree.

Duke halted his movements again, meeting Stiles' eyes. "Very good. That is far more information than you should have ever been able to find, so I commend you." He began stroking his thumb up and down along Stiles' neck, almost soothingly. "And I can suppose you also discovered where it must be grown, seeing as you found my little garden?"

Nodding, Stiles rubbed at his nose nervously. "Banks of a river, always shaded and in shallow soil over a clay deposit," he answered.

The Alpha regarded Stiles for a moment, as if trying to figure him out. "You're clever. And I underestimated you, that's for sure. Even intended to kill you," he admitted, almost purring the words into Stiles' ear. Stiles' eyes grew wide; he was frozen, heart-stuttering in fear.

Duke's fingers moved upwards and ducked beneath the hems of Stiles' shirts, the touch causing Stiles' ab muscles to immediately recoil. He took in shallow, quick breaths as the werewolf flattened his hand to Stiles' stomach and circled around to his back ever-so-slowly, leaving a trail of fire. He then pulled the hand back around to Stiles' chest, rucking up his shirts; Stiles shivered at the exposure to the cool fall air.

Spreading his fingers, Duke explored Stiles' chest, rubbing sensitive nipples and lingering over the hollow of his chest. He began pressing rough, biting kisses down Stiles' throat, sucking a mark into the crook of his shoulder and neck.

Stiles was still frozen, afraid that any movement would provoke the Alpha. He'd been right to be cautious before, if Duke's intention all along had been to find out what he knew and kill him. His faculties were returning to him now that he wasn't being questioned, so he focused all of his attention on not reacting to the way Duke's fingers trailed through his happy trail or sent sparks flying down his side. And Stiles ignored the part of him that was enjoying this, that was reveling in the touch of another hand, that didn't care whose hand that was. Or at least, he tried to.

He could feel the skin of his neck being pulled into Duke's mouth, body longing to lean into it as he was choking off moans in response to the intense pleasure-pain. His skin was alight, Duke's fingers exploring every inch of his body that he could reach with one hand still gripping his throat. Stiles knew what was happening, knew he was being marked. But marked meant Duke was sending a message and Stiles could only hope to deliver that message alive.

Finally, Duke's hand slowed and he returned to facing Stiles, intense gaze sending heat down Stiles' spine. His nostrils flared a moment and the light in his eye made it clear what he could smell. "Almost too easy," he sneered. "But I'm not going to kill you. At least, not today."

"What are you gonna-" Stiles couldn't help but ask, but he was cut off when he felt Duke's hand at the button of his jeans, popping it open.

Stiles startled, flailing a moment before his hands flew to Duke's, to pull it away, to stop him. But then Duke's hand clenched around Stiles' neck and he could feel the claws biting into his flesh, his airway briefly cut off. He froze, arms dropping to his sides again.

Duke held up one finger, wagging it back and forth. "Ah ah," he said in a warning tone. His hand returned to Stiles' jeans, looking him straight in the eye as he slowly pulled down the zipper. Stiles bit back the urge to squirm away, exhaling sharply through his nose. Duke pushed the jeans to the ground, causing Stiles to flinch.

"Now," Duke began, fingers inching slowly beneath the waistband of Stiles' boxers. "Imagine how fun it will be when our dear Derek finds you."

Stiles' eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "Why-" He swallowed, trying to focus with Duke's hand inching ever lower. "Why would he care?" he asked indignantly, voice shaky, but jaw tight. Duke pushed his boxers down over his hips and he was completely exposed.

"Don't play dumb," Duke snapped playfully, finally making contact with Stiles' cock. Stiles tried to bite back a soft moan and failed, head falling back against the tree. His body was screaming contradictions; half wanted to squirm, to shove Duke away and the other was trying to make sense of the sensation of a hand other than his own. "I've been watching your little pack for a while now. I've seen the way he looks at you. "

At that, Duke wrapped his fingers fully around Stiles, dragging roughly down his cock to capture the pre-come leaking from the tip. He kept talking as he began pumping, ignoring Stiles' little moans and twitches. "Can't say I blame him, you definitely know how to hold one's attention. And hmm, definitely not compensating," he added with a squeeze. "But Derek, he's not an easy one to snare."

Stiles brain had short-circuited. He was only barely registering what Duke was saying, most of his attention being forcibly drawn downwards. This was so much different than when it was his own hand and his brain was having trouble processing all the new sensations. He opened and closed his mouth uselessly, unable to find actual words as Duke's hand worked quickly, jerking him furiously.

"I can't deny," Duke continued. "I was a bit annoyed that all you have to do is snark and flail around a bit and you've got him basically falling over himself like a puppy. Took me weeks to even get him to talk to me."

That caught Stiles attention. "Wa-eh-ate. You nngg knew him befo-ore?" he managed to ask. His tongue darted out to lick his lips again nervously.

Duke picked up the tempo, adding a twist over the head of Stiles' cock that had him seeing stars. He was close. Very close. "Let's just say, when Derek finds you reeking of sex and _me_, it won't be an unfamiliar combination."

Stiles' eyes grew wide as he registered the meaning behind Duke's words, but a second later he tensed up, biting his bottom lip against the high keen spilling from his throat as his orgasm rocketed through him, burning deep in his lower belly. It was messy, spurting into Duke's hand and all over Stiles' stomach.

When it was over, Stiles sagged against the tree, devoid of energy. Duke's hand around his neck was all that was holding him upright. Duke was looking down at his fingers, rubbing them together. At first Stiles didn't understand the action and then Duke was pressing them under his shirts again, rubbing the come into his skin and he understood. He wanted to make it very clear who had done this to Stiles.

"Wha- what do you-" Stiles began to ask breathlessly, but Duke's hand clenched around his neck again, cutting him off.

"Shh, Stiles, it's quiet time now." Duke pulled his hand back out from under Stiles' clothes, reaching up to cup his jaw, face not inches away. Stiles' jaw was shaking as he met Duke's stare and the Alpha reached his thumb to stroke Stiles' trembling bottom lip, smearing it with sticky come. "You definitely make things interesting," he said softly.

The hand around Stiles' neck twisted back and his claws dug into Stiles' skin in one quick motion. Stiles' body seized, every muscle tensing at once and he let out a cry. His mind was. . . something was _happening_. . . but he couldn't _remember_.

Stiles dropped to his knees, a hand around his neck following him down. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to focus on something anything. There was a sharp pain at the back of his neck followed by a soft voice in his ear saying, "Catch you later, Stiles."

When Stiles opened his eyes a minute later, he was alone. In the woods. He felt the breeze on his ass and scrambled to pull his clothes up, knocking his head against the tree as he flailed. When he'd gotten his jeans buttoned, he looked around, trying to figure out how in the hell he'd gotten here.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek ran as fast as he could, dropped low on all fours, following Stiles' scent from the Jeep. As soon as he'd gotten Scott's call, he had an awful feeling. He should have known when Stiles was over earlier that he was about to go do something stupid.

And then he caught it. That other scent. His eyes flashed red and his heart dropped into his stomach, anger boiling his blood. He pushed himself still faster, knowing he wouldn't make it in time, knowing he'd be too late.

He knew he was getting close when he heard Stiles' unmistakable heartbeat, fluttery fast and strong, and a rush of relief flooded through him. Stiles was alive. Derek breathed deeply as he ran, his worry increasing as Duke's scent got stronger the closer he got to Stiles. But there was another scent, one that was familiar, but he couldn't place, that was also growing stronger.

"Stiles!" he called when he could finally see him, almost a roar. The teen looked up, searching out his voice. He was laying on the ground in front of a large tree, pushing himself up on his elbows. Duke was nowhere in sight or hearing range.

"Derek?" he called back, voice uncertain.

Derek caught the scent of blood then as he jumped a log and was at Stiles' side in a millisecond, face and claws morphing back to human. Then he stopped, back-pedaling a couple steps. He couldn't smell himself on Stiles at all. It had become a habit to touch Stiles, on his shoulder, his arm, patting his back, each time he saw him, had become so natural to transfer his scent to the point that it was disorienting to smell Stiles without sensing himself as well.

Then his mind placed that other scent, the overwhelming stench of sex that clouded around Stiles, and he had to bite back his shift. His instincts were reacting violently to the idea of Stiles having sex with someone else, of him having sex with-

With _Duke_, he realized. Memories flooded Derek's mind and his fists clenched, a growl escaping through his clenched teeth. The mix was familiar, aggravatingly so, but he identified that the scent of sex was not quite the same. Which meant it had to be Stiles who-

His wolf was pissed and he was sure his eyes were flashing red. Smelling Duke, or _anyone_, on Stiles like this, on _Stiles_- it was bringing out all of his possessive instincts. Stiles was- well, not _his_, he reminded himself. Derek didn't know what he was exactly, all he knew was that his wolf- his human, too, if he was being honest- was reacting very territorially to the scent of someone else on Stiles.

Derek's eyes tracked over Stiles' quickly, taking inventory in the second it took him to step closer and crouch down. His shirts were rucked up several inches, but Derek pointedly ignored the come he could see smeared along the exposed skin as he continued his search upward, finding no source of the blood he could smell.

He saw the bite marks and hickeys forming along Stiles' neck, claws extending in rage at the sight of Duke's marks on Stiles' body. There was more come smudged along Stiles' face, his cheek, jaw and lip. Then Derek's eyes caught sight of other, different marks, and his stomach dropped. The reddish-purple, distinctly finger-shaped bruises forming along either side of Stiles' neck confirmed what he feared had happened.

Meeting Stiles eyes, Derek asked slowly, "Stiles, are you okay?" He forced himself to calm down, retracting his claws. He wanted to run hands all over his body, assure himself that Stiles was whole and unharmed, but he didn't imagine Stiles would react well to being touched, not after what Duke had done.

Stiles shook his head in confusion as he inhaled, then nodded. "Yeah, I- I think so?" His tongue flicked out to wet his lips and froze mid motion, eyes lit up in confusion. He retracted his tongue slowly and swallowed. "I can't remember. . . anything. What am I doing out here? What are _you_ doing out here? Why was I, um. . ." He paused, dropping his arms and swallowing back the words. "I don't know how I got here."

Derek clenched his jaw, shaking his head a little as he looked down. Duke was a fucking bastard, he thought. He reached forward to check Stiles' neck, then thought better of it, instead motioning for Stiles to check. "Your neck," he explained at Stiles' expression.

Stiles reached back to touch the wounds, flinching. He looked from the blood on his fingers to Derek, eyes wide. "What's going on?"

Derek's instincts were screaming at him to pull Stiles into his arms, rub himself all over the teen's body until the scent of Duke was eradicated. But he held back, suppressing the urge to touch his face, run hands over his ribs, press their bodies together. If he gave in, he would be no better than Deucalion. The loathing he felt for the other man grew exponentially. He would tear him apart for what he'd done.

Derek grit his teeth as he explained. "Sharing and stealing memories, even manipulating and faking them, is something that werewolves can do. Scott told you when Peter shared his memories of the fire?" he asked. Stiles nodded. "It's unpleasant and leaves a mark, like the ones on the back of your neck, but it's also imprecise and difficult to do correctly. He, however, has had lots of practice, and it's easier for alphas to control."

"He?" Stiles asked.

"Duke."

That made Stiles even more confused. "Who's Duke? Wait, Duke as in Deucalion?" he guessed.

Derek nodded once, curtly. He had to curl his hands into fists to keep from reaching forward to rub the confusion from between Stiles' golden eyes.

"Why would he do that?" Stiles asked, gulping, anger leaking into the confused tone of his voice.

Derek's nostrils flared. "To piss me off." His stomach was rolling as he continued to breathe in mixture of smells, of Stiles and Duke and come. His wolf was rearing, clawing inside him, but he shook his head to clear it.

"Why? That doesn't make any sense," Stiles replied, gesturing his confusion.

Derek didn't answer, changing the subject. "What about the flower, the one you were asking about earlier?"

Stiles drew back. "Wha-what flower? Earlier, like today? I don't remember seeing you earlier. The last thing I remember is dropping Scott off last night. . . and then it's all just blank until, um." He cleared his throat. "You got here."

Derek heard the blip in his heartbeat, knew what Stiles wasn't saying. He searched Stiles' face, as if it held the answers and his eyes noted things he'd missed before. His eyes were puffy and red, skin ashen and even paler than normal, even in the afternoon sun. He hadn't slept, had probably been up all night researching. Whatever it was he found, it wasn't something Duke wanted Stiles, or him, to know.

He said as much to Stiles, then rose out of his crouch. "We should go."

Stiles huffed and scrambled to stand, bracing an arm on the tree behind him, but he collapsed back against it.

"Careful," Derek cautioned, holding a hand out to catch him if he fell. Once he was on his feet, another wave of the mixing scents on Stiles hit him and he grit his teeth against the instinct to shove Stiles back against the tree and replace Duke's scent with his own.

"What's going-" Stiles started to ask, pulling down his undershirt and smoothing it down, but then he froze. He looked down at his stomach, eyes scrunching together. Several seconds passed and Derek just stared, fascinated watching Stiles' mind work, lips slightly parted and eyes flicking all around. He looked up to Derek with wide, knowing eyes as his heart rate ratcheted upwards. "Please tell me that's mine."

Derek blinked, meeting Stiles' eyes. He nodded and watched Stiles' eyes light up, full of questions. "Here." Derek crossed his arms over his torso, pulling his shirt off and offering it to Stiles to wipe himself off. Stiles just stared at him, eyes wide as they looked down Derek's body and back up to his eyes again, swallowing thickly. Derek caught the scent of arousal in the air and it set his heart racing.

Stiles nodded and pulled his arms through his flannel and red hoodie, dropping them to the ground. He glanced up through eyelashes, embarrassment replacing the arousal as his shoulders hunched forward. Derek looked away, sensing his discomfort. He stared at the ground, but he still watched out of the corner of his eye. Stiles reached down to pull up the hem of his gray t-shirt, confusing Derek when he pulled it all the way off, and not because he got caught in it.

Once he was free of the shirt, he fisted it around his hand began to wipe at his stomach and ribs, and Derek realized Stiles had misunderstood the offer. Derek looked up, eyes tracing over the surprisingly defined muscles of his stomach, chest and shoulders, swallowing back his wolf's desire to lick over every inch of it.

His jaw was tight as Stiles took his Henley from his hands, throat closing as it clicked that Stiles was choosing to wear _his _shirt, to bear _his _scent. His eyes grew wide, body going wild at the implication, but he ignored it all, grabbing the come-smeared t-shirt before Stiles could drop it onto his pile.

Stiles met his eyes with confusion. Derek held up the shirt, gesturing towards Stiles' face, eyes asking permission as they flicked back and forth between Stiles'. His bright, golden eyes flashed understanding and he nodded.

Derek grabbed Stiles' chin gently, lightly, and he wiped at the smudges along his cheek, jaw and lip while looking Stiles in the eye. The pupils of his bright, golden eyes dilated and his tongue darted out to lick his lips. When Derek was done, he rubbed his thumb over the edge of Stiles' jaw, unable to tear his eyes from Stiles' lips.

Then he remembered himself, remembered where he was and why he was here, and he let go, backing away from Stiles. He balled up the shirt and threw it through the trees.

Stiles followed it with his eyes, then turned back to Derek open-mouthed.

"Hey! That was my favorite shirt!"

Derek rolled his eyes. "I'll buy you another one."

Stiles eyed him curiously. "Werewolf thing?" he guessed. Derek nodded once.

Stiles huffed. "Well, that's not dramatic at all," he mumbled as he shoved his arms through Derek's shirt, then pulled it over his head. It was far too big on him, but it suited him, Derek thought.

Of course, it did wonders in terms of scent. He could still smell Duke and the distinctive hint of sex, but it was masked by the smell of Derek. He ignored the way his chest seemed to expand from the inside at the way Stiles smelled like him, at the way their scents mixed so thoroughly. He also ignored the way his jeans got tighter.

"C'mon," he said, flicking his head and eyes to indicate that they should get walking. Stiles nodded, bending to grab his shirt and hoodie. They fell into step together, Derek being careful not to walk too close.

Stiles was quiet for a couple minutes and Derek was about to ask again if he was okay when he spoke up. "So I figure my options here are both kind of shitty," he stated. Derek glanced over, not understanding. "Either I just got all hot and heavy with the Alpha pack leader or I didn't have any choice in the matter. On the one hand," he said, gesturing with his hands as they walked. "I'm an awful person because he's _evil_ and that would be sinking down to a level of desperation I am not comfortable with.

"And of course, well-" he stopped himself, swallowing back whatever train of thought had his heart beat erratic. "I just wouldn't be able to respect myself if that was the case," he explained instead. Then his voice grew frantic, high-pitched. "But on the other hand, well, I just got molested and I'm not really comfortable with that either!"

His shoulders slumped, arms dropping back down after he finished his explanation. Fresh rage washed through Derek's system, and he could feel his eyes flashing red even as he focused on keeping his claws retracted. Duke would pay for what he'd done.

Derek inhaled through his mouth, trying to clear his head. His instincts were reacting to how Stiles smelled like him, just as much as to the fact that he still smelled like Duke, despite the wardrobe change. He fisted his hands again to avoid giving into the urge to _take_ Stiles, right here and now.

Stiles sighed, looking over to Derek. "Why?" his voice was thick, full of unspoken thoughts.

Derek paused before answering, debating on what to say. He knew Stiles would figure it all out eventually. It was silly, stupid to try to hide anything from the teen for long. "Sex has always been Duke's favorite weapon," he said simply, continuing before Stiles could read too much into that. "And judging by the bruises forming around your neck, it wasn't consensual."

Stiles reached up to rub the side of his neck, where the marks were looking more purple than red. He gulped and Derek could scent the waves of emotion that rolled off of him as he processed that.

"Why make me forget? Doesn't that ruin the point?" he asked suddenly, pulling his lips into his mouth to wet them. "I mean, not that I want to rem-. . . I just don't get it," he admitted, obviously frustrated by that fact.

"Like I said, it's imprecise," Derek explained slowly. "He couldn't wipe whatever it was you found without wiping everything."

"Yeah, you mentioned earlier, a, um, flower?" Stiles asked..

Derek explained how Stiles had shown up at his apartment that morning with a list of mostly nonexistent plants and an attitude, which he now guessed was due to lack of sleep. Stiles grew quiet for a minute, processing that.

"It'll be in my Jeep," he said suddenly. Derek glanced over, not understanding. "Whatever it was I was looking for. I would've brought something with me, a book, a print-out, something."

Derek raised his eyebrows. The fact that Stiles was more concerned about figuring out what Duke wanted than what he'd done to him was. . . surprising. Except that it wasn't.

At Derek's blank gaze, Stiles sighed. "C'mon, we're almost there." He started jogging through the trees and Derek stared after him a moment before following after him. He could see the blue of the Jeep but something was off. . .

"No, Stiles! Stop!" Derek yelled. Stiles turned confused, and he opened his mouth to ask when Derek shushed him harshly. Duke's scent had gotten stronger. He was here, or had been.

Derek listened carefully, but for at least a mile around them could hear no other heartbeats, at least not of the human variety. His shoulders slumped in relief and he turned around to face Stiles, who was looking at him expectantly.

"Duke's been here," he explained. Stiles looked confused a moment, then his eyes grew wide and Derek smelled panic.

"My Jeep!" he shouted, turning on his heel and sprinting the rest of the way. Derek raced after him, knowing what they would find.

Stiles' Jeep was parked at the Preserve entrance, both doors swung wide open. Derek scanned the area as Stiles rushed to check inside the cab, dropping his shirts on the ground next to the door. He let out a cry just as Derek's eyes focused on the steering wheel embedded in a nearby tree.

"You've got to be _fucking_ kidding me!" Stiles exclaimed. Derek sniffed, trying to catch the scent of anything else suspicious, but there was nothing. Just more of that infuriating mix of Duke and Stiles that had Derek's heart pounding in anger.

"Stiles, c'mon," Derek called over his shoulder as he walked over to where the steering wheel was sticking out of the tree trunk. "We should get out of the woods." He grabbed hold of the wheel with both hands and pulled it free with a screech of metal. It was dented, but fixable and Derek walked it back over to the Jeep.

Stiles was climbing out of the cab, slamming the door closed behind him. "I'm not- oh good, you found it." Stiles grabbed the wheel and tossed it through the window to the front seat. "I am not walking all the way back to Beacon Hills," he informed Derek, scooting passed him to round the front of the Jeep. "Call someone with a car." Stiles waved at Derek with a hand while lifting the hood of the Jeep, propping it open.

"We can take my Camaro. What are you doing?" Derek asked, walking around to stand behind Stiles and looking over his shoulder.

"Checking to make sure he didn't fuck more shit up," Stiles replied as if it should be obvious. "I've already had to get her fixed twice this year in werewolf related injuries. And I'm gonna bet your Camaro is probably in the same state as my Jeep, so call someone with a car," he repeated, running his fingers over the engine as if taking inventory.

Derek snorted. "Duke wouldn't do anything to my Camaro," he told Stiles.

"Why, because it's so pretty?" Stiles mocked, voice doubtful. He reached for the prop and grabbed hold of the hood, giving the engine one final glance.

Taking a deep breath, Derek watched as Stiles lowered the lid. He deserved to know the truth. "No, because he bought it."

Stiles spun around to face Derek so fast he almost lost his balance. "Wait, what? What do you mean he bought it?"

"I mean," Derek explained slowly. "He bought it. For me. It was a gift."

Derek didn't think he'd ever seen Stiles look so shocked, eyebrows raised high. There was a long pause. "So when you said sex has always been Duke's favorite weapon. . . you were talking from personal experience." It wasn't a question, so Derek didn't confirm or deny. He was having trouble controlling his instincts, lungs filled with the scent of Stiles and himself while his wolf clawed at him in reaction to the fresh scent of Duke.

Stiles huffed, throwing up his hands. "That's- that's just freaking terrific. No, really, could my day get any better? I wake up to discover I've just been molested, but have no memory of it and isn't that just my luck to forget the first time anyone's ever _touched _me? But oh no, it gets better because I find that the fucker trashed my Jeep and then get hit with the news that this same bastard happens to be the ex of the guy I've been- of- of _you_!" Stiles was shouting by the end of his rant, gesturing his hands around. His heart rate was racing, but Derek still caught the little blip at the end. "Just freaking perfect," he mumbled.

"Stiles, I-" Derek reached out to Stiles' shoulder to comfort him, not remembering until it was too late that Stiles wouldn't want to be touched right now. He jerked his hand back, angry at himself for forgetting what Stiles was going through. Stiles watched the motion and took in his expression, then his eyes turned hard, glaring.

"Oh, what, you're too disgusted to even touch me now? You know what? Fuck you." His voice was still angry, but Derek could smell the hurt. Stiles tried to push passed him, but Derek caught his arm, holding him back.

"No, Stiles, dammit. That's not- that's not it," he assured Stiles, meeting his eyes. "I just- I didn't know how you'd feel about being touched. Considering," he added. They stood face to face against the front of the Jeep, closer than Derek had intended, but he couldn't bring himself to step back. His eyes tracked over Stiles' face and he had to stop himself from giving into the urge to stroke it.

Stiles' eyebrows rose, heart rate steadying. "Oh." Stiles looked down, swallowing. "Thanks."

Derek dropped his arm and Stiles leaned back against the Jeep, shoving his hands in his pockets. He didn't look ready to leave, so Derek cast his senses out to make sure they were still alone and settled next to him. Stiles didn't say anything for a moment, then he took a deep breath.

"I almost can't believe I'm saying this, but at this point it almost freaks me out more if you don't touch me. I don't even know how that's become a thing, but it has. Right? I'm not imagining that, am I?" He glanced over at Derek, who raised his eyebrows with a small shake of his head, not meeting Stiles' eyes.

Stiles continued. "It has. And like, I know I should be bothered or disturbed or whatever, but I guess I'm just not?" He made it a question and Derek got that they weren't talking about _them_ anymore. Then Stiles shook his head. "I don't know, like, I can't remember anything, so we can deduce all we want, but I still don't _feel_ violated or whatever. I mean, not like, physically," he clarified, pulling a hand from his pocket to gesture to his body. "Mentally, it's like- it's like something was _taken_ from me. Like there's these hours of my life that I don't have anymore." Derek just listened, sensing he wasn't done.

"And like, as much as that bugs me, I guess I'm kind of glad I don't remember because that's not how I want to remember my first time. Not _who_ I want to remember," he added under his breath, looking down. Derek could hear what he was saying, could hear it in the intonation of his voice, in the gulping at his throat, in the pounding of his heart.

Derek's heart seemed sure of where Stiles was going with this, but his head was telling him it was impossible. There was no way. "Because he's evil?" he guessed.

Stiles shook his head a little, still looking down. He closed his eyes and bit at his lips as his heart rate rose, becoming erratic. Derek opened his mouth to suggest they start walking to the Camaro when Stiles whispered softly. "Because he's not you."

Derek glanced over to Stiles sharply, eyes wide. He was still looking down and Derek just couldn't handle that. He reached over and grabbed Stiles' chin, tilting it up until their eyes met. Stiles looked almost unbearably open, vulnerable and scared, his jaw tight. He licked his lips as his eyes flicked down to Derek's.

Derek leaned in until their lips met, kissing him softly, slowly. His fingers slid forward along Stiles' jawline to cup his face, pulling him closer, tilting it just so-

Stiles moaned and reached for Derek and he snapped, like a wire that had been strung too tight. In a flash he was grabbing the back of Stiles' neck and reaching around his back, pulling him against his body. Stiles was clutching at him, one hand tangling in his hair while the other clung to his bicep. He opened his mouth and shoved his tongue into Derek's, letting out a moan that sent the blood rushing south.

Derek's hands migrated down, gripping Stiles' ribs through his shirt as their lips crashed together over and over. Derek had been fantasizing about this for months, but it- it didn't even compare to the feeling of Stiles' against him.

Stiles pressed closer as they both bit and sucked at each other's lips hungrily, desperately. Derek slid his hands down the back of Stiles' thighs and pulled up, sitting him on top of the hood and following him forward. He crushed their hips together as Stiles rested his legs around Derek's waist.

Hands were exploring everywhere, touching and stroking over everything. Derek fisted his hands in his shirt, his wolf humming in appreciation of his scent being rubbed into Stiles' skin, his cock straining against his jeans.

Stiles pulled back. "Fucking finally," he gasped, out of breath. Derek immediately began sucking a line of hickeys down Stiles' neck, intentionally covering the marks Duke had left. Stiles' blunt fingers dug into the skin of Derek's shoulder and down his back and his breath turned from heavy to shaky.

Tightening his legs, and wrapping his arms around Derek's neck, Stiles pulled himself up off the Jeep and bit and licked a line along Derek's jaw back to his mouth. Stiles rolled his hips and the way their groins pressed together, the _friction_, had Derek growling and Stiles gasping. Derek ran his hands from Stiles' shoulders down the perfect curve of his back, causing him to shudder against Derek. He cupped Stiles' ass, squeezing and Stiles whined into Derek's mouth.

Then Derek felt Stiles' hands reaching between them, fumbling with the button on his jeans and he pulled back. In a second, he gripped Stiles' ribs and pushed him off, setting him back on the Jeep and backing several steps away. "Not like this," he said firmly.

Stiles sat dumbfounded a moment before hopping off the Jeep. Derek scented the anger, the frustration as Stiles marched toward him, throwing his arms up. "Why not? I want to, you want to, for freaking once we both want the same thing! Let's just forget about this crap and-"

"No, Stiles," Derek cut in, raising his hands in front of him when Stiles started to reach for him again. "When it happens, it's not going to be because we want to forget something; it's going to be because we want to _remember_ something." Derek stepped forward, running one hand down Stiles' arm as he stroked his cheekbone with his thumb. "Not like this," he repeated.


End file.
